


Lionheart

by ghostofgatsby



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Body Horror, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Griffins, Magic, Modeling, Transformation, Urban Magic Yogs, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9516566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: The pain started in his shoulders.Ross thought he pulled a muscle wrong at the gym, but it didn’t go away. It was a persistent, at first subtle, ache in his bones. His broad shoulder muscles become sore and stiff to the touch. Very tiny feathers start flaking off when he showers.Ross knew he had fae blood in him, but he never showed any symptoms of anything. “There weren’t any ab- weren’t any fae-like changes in me when I hit puberty,” he tells the doctor. Every breath he took in felt a little different, like his shoulders carried extra weight.Wings. Wing growth was causing his shoulder pain.





	

**Author's Note:**

> something small that I forgot was sitting in my drafts. another alternate UMY-verse than my other work. not a specific world, though. could be same universe as Songbird, I don’t know. but it can be read completely on it’s own. Feel free to craft your own versions of it.
> 
> gryphons, according to Wikipedia:  
> -eagle head and talons on front legs  
> -wings  
> -body, tail, and back legs of a lion  
> -”mate for life” so, I headcanon = they form very strong bonds with people  
> -”feathers could restore sight to blind” = known for mental clarity  
> -”claws have medicinal properties” = healing powers if hurt. minor scrapes heal themselves  
> -stand for courage, boldness, leadership, intelligence, and strength  
> -powerful and majestic  
> -guardians of possessions; lovers of gold
> 
> The city is a combination between Seattle and Detriot. And think Max Payne, only more tech noir and less rain/snow.
> 
> Ross' casual actual clothes:  
> http://menstrends.tumblr.com/post/30115297195  
> http://styleguy.top/post/115602573032  
> pink blazer hoodie photoshoot:  
> http://menstrends.tumblr.com/post/35663525933
> 
> cw: doctor’s appointments, medication, anxiety, stress, attempted mugging, minor injury  
> If I need to tag something else, let me know.
> 
> reblog: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2017/02/27/lionheart-ghostofgatsby/

The pain started in his shoulders.

Ross thought he pulled a muscle wrong at the gym, but it didn’t go away. It was a persistent, at first subtle, ache in his bones.

The doctor’s office had a weird smell of band-aids when he went in for his second appointment on the matter. “Your last four dorsal vertebrae are fused,” the doctor said, pointing to the X-rays stuck to the lightbox, “and this may be the cause of your backaches.”

He’s given painkillers, pamphlets, a form to get blood work done, and to come back if things change or get worse. Ross is used to routine physicals- being a model means more people than usual pay attention to his body.

But things start to change. His broad shoulder muscles become sore and stiff to the touch. Very tiny feathers start flaking off when he showers. He goes to step out and dry off, and his feet are covered in fingernail sized feathers, speckled brown and gray, like skin flakes. It’s disgusting and bizarre. He wants to scrub himself clean again but passing his hand over his skin just sluices more off, and it’s gross and feels wrong to do so. His skin feels over-sensitive afterwards.

Ross lays on the floor to sleep for the next few nights, because the floor is cold and flat and feels better than softness. The sheets on his bed feel _wrong_ on his skin, for whatever reason.

His blood work comes back from the doctor, and Ross talks over the results at a third appointment. He knew he had fae blood in him, but he never showed any symptoms of anything. “There weren’t any ab- weren’t any fae-like changes in me when I hit puberty,” he tells the doctor. He takes a deep breath and lets it out again. The change scares him. He doesn’t know what to expect.

“Were any of your ancestors bird-like in anyway?” the doctor asks.

Ross shakes his head no. Every breath he took in felt a little different, like his shoulders carried extra weight. The doctor said his lungs were fine.

Wings. Wing growth was causing his shoulder pain.

 

When Ross’ feathers grow out, he sheds them as downy fluff. His back itches constantly, especially in the place he can’t reach. He ends up buying a backscratcher next time he’s at the store, and scratches his skin raw in the process.

Applying medicated lotion to fix the itching makes his skin oily. Acne acts up, which his modelling agency doesn’t like. But the stress of it is getting to him. Ross takes so many showers that his water bill doubles. There are feathers everywhere in the apartment no matter how often he sweeps and cleans. It drives him crazy.

The doctor assigns more painkillers for the development of his wings, and a diet high in dairy and meat. Ross tries to balance it out with fruit and veggies. He spends his days off laying on the couch, feeling bloated and sore. No position is comfortable at night. He takes supplements and sleeping pills on top of everything. He’s afraid he’s going to be out of a job soon because bones are starting to protrude from his back. The others at his modelling agency are getting suspicious that he’s refused to do topless shoots. He feels like a freak, growing these feathery protrusions. But Ross can’t afford to lose these modelling jobs. It’s his only source of income.

 

His agent gets him in touch with fae who model, and they work around it.

After the downy stage, his feathers shed again.

Ross has a lot of weird dreams, and muscle spasms where the nerves in his forming wings fire off. A second round of feathers start forming, a lighter brown than his hair. These are longer, the size of his thumb. All his tight clothes have to be altered to fit his forming wings. Ross is just glad that he can fold them relatively flat to his back.

To him, it’s disgusting, ugly looking. He doesn’t understand why he’s growing them now. He’s twenty six! He shouldn’t have any weird growing spurts or genetic surprises. He doesn’t want to be seen as some weird fae freak, and he begins to think that’s all he’ll be known for now.

The wings themselves start growing again. His sleep lets up, and his doctor gets rid of all the supplements. Ross sticks to his diet. He starts working with a physical therapist, which is so awkward because his wings are so sensitive some days it _hurts_ to touch them.

His wings grow to arm-span length, and the top layer of feathers starts developing, longer. There’s less shedding this time. The third round is darker, dark brown like his hair, and all layers eventually darken to match.

As conflicted as Ross feels about the wings, they don’t feel awkward to have. It’s surprising. He thought it would be hard to adjust to having another set of limbs stuck to his back. But he’s as aware of them as he is his arms and legs. And it feels right, in some sense, to have them. He never felt like he was missing something from himself, but with wings it’s like...oh. It makes strange sense. Like his subconscious always knew.

 

The gryphon blood in him has other benefits.

Ross can sniff out gold, and tell if someone’s lying. _Pretty sure you’re full of shit, mate_ , he’ll think, but not say aloud. Skeptical humming is commonplace. He’s really good at appraising the value in things, and making decisions. People have told him he’s very reliable and honest, in the past. But he doesn’t think he’s anyone special.

The people he works for in modelling for fae fashion lines love his wings. He gets a lot of fans and publicity, and he feels very awkward about it. He’s tired of people asking if he can fly. The answer is no. And he’s sure as hell not going to try.

Ross hates when his schedule gets messed up, too. He’s pissy like a wet cat in a bath, and proceeds to pout in his makeup chair while the photographer/designer gestures to other members of the crew. For his job, he gets dressed up in expensive garments. Today’s outfit is made out of embroidered silk. Ross spends too much time carefully feeling it, enraptured with the quality. He gets free pick of an outfit from the rack of clothes at every shoot, so his wardrobe is always looking sharp.

It was nice to collect all these lavish things. He has a good apartment in the city, plenty of clothes, and a hefty paycheck. When his wings had finished growing, they didn’t give him much more trouble, besides the shedding feathers here and there. It might have actually boosted his job performance at his modelling agency.

The minor healing powers weren’t bad either, though Ross could have done without nearly getting mugged.

He was walking back from an urban photoshoot the evening it happened. The photographer and his camera crew were all going off to see a show, get some drinks, and smoke. Ross isn’t into that. He starts walking home, but the sun is setting.

He runs into some trouble on the street. Some guy with a knife whistling at him, obviously on drugs or something. Ross slows his pace a tad, unsure if he should help or run.

“You’d do well on the market,” the man mutters to Ross, and lunges at him.

Ross fights back. He shoves the man away and runs, feeling the cuts on his arms sting and burn. His feet pound the pavement. He vaults over things, shoving trash cans aside to try and slow the guy down if he’s chasing him. He’s not sure if he’s following, but he isn’t going to check.

Ross climbs over a wire fence, scraping up his legs and the palms of his hands in the process, and jumps off and skins his knees when he trips on the landing. He scrambles up and gets to a bus station he recognizes, and only then does he catch his breath in the dim glow. Safe, for now. Ross checks his injuries, and watches them slowly heal over, skin unmarred.

That’s new.

 

By the time Ross gets home, it’s late. He showers even though his wings’ll be damp afterward. He shakes them out on the little balcony on his apartment overlooking the city, hearing the sounds of the nightlife. The lights glimmer in the dark. He goes back inside, turns off the lights, and goes to bed.

 

There are morning doves warbling when he gets up to make his coffee. The sun comes up over the edges of the sleazy, shining city. It looks pretty, but in a few hours it’ll be covered in smog. and Ross knows an underbelly of sin and darkness runs through it.

There’s two sides to every coin, he supposes.


End file.
